


december 31

by ruruka



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, crushes and kisses ohoho naegami good, future foundation canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruruka/pseuds/ruruka
Summary: they set aside some time to forget. it only gives togami more to remember.





	december 31

they'd rented a cabin in shikoku for the night, deepset into the woods the island is known for, secluded at lake's vast rippling edge to dance trees along thick and healthy. they'd rented a cabin in shikoku for the night (though he'd be quick to scoff and say he didn't see anyone else's credit card number on the printed statement), because a dull toned office building is no place for celebrating, and fireworks cost twice as much in osaka.

cut from those trees so thick and healthy rest their middles lacquered, circled round chopped even shorter their brood to crackle life in searing blues. another serving of twigs falls to the fire's waiting hunger, hands that delivered them swiped of earthy remnants as he takes a seat.

"it's a perfect night for this," naegi says, eyes gazing long over the sun glow going swallowed by the dark lake horizon. togami leans to the ice chest aside his log seating, and offers him a smirnoff from one of the remaining six packs. he laughs as he takes it, sweats against his palm to his further, "and for that. thanks."

the hours spent milling about the campsite had done him only insipidity, drenched him in the wry light of having lived a thousand lives better.  _dirt and leaves, yay._ his eyes rolled and shoulders dropped luggage down to preferred room's carpeting, and the california king in the center had just  _slightly_ made up for the grand outdoors caking betwixt fifty thousand yen armani grooves. hollers rang from every corridor in the rental, drawing him to a sigh that wrings from him a moment's apprehension, walked lean and limber and prim to match the mattress creaks and spit  _stop jumping on the bed, hagakure._

faded grandeur had since drawn the lot past the backdoor porch to soak in open evening. togami is not so stuck up as to hole himself away, regardless of his aversion for all things natural and bright, so especially not when he's lured out by the curve of a beam too bright and too natural to ever refuse.

"ah, togami?" those same lips now spill, charm the most sheeply as he dons. the single serve bottle points back to him, and he's left glancing between the two before one hand pulls from its fold to grip it at the neck. the cap twists off in a surreptitious  _hiss_ and hands back over to a timid appreciation.

pine fronds waver to dust down their offerings. he leaves palms to grip easy the edge of the log, crossing legs neat at the knees in a compressing lean forward, gaze over the lake. his mouth steeps low not in distaste but rather a relaxing. outward he breathes smart, turns to catch again the other's eye, and takes now that distaste to find it already captured.

kirigiri's placed herself aside him, materialized from air thinned, hips a close brushing to all the world's comfort in the other. she keeps hands calm to a lap fold, lift once to pluck his drink and sip off it, hands it back before he's finished his current strand of prattling. togami mirrors the motion with his own; peach vodka dazzles his bloodstream.

a hooting draws thrice a glancing back. they catch the same a torpedo whiz from the water's lapping, whipping a fat cord of tied back hair to spew droplets every way which. a single degree celcius reading hadn't been close to enough to deter her.

"the water's amazing out here!" asahina grins to a placement at the first woman's second side. her swimsuit glistens navy by drips clung still, moon's light pale in calming reflections. "you guys really should've joined in."

blank looks greet her hindsight. togami brushes the pine needles from his thigh.

in the goodest of natures, she pouts. "aw, what a bunch of lameos." those teeth glint sweet in another spread of a grinning. she takes to wringing her ponytail in two fists, head dipped as she unfolds conversation off her tongue.

that very same light of that very same moon gleams along irises a rainbow in their row, and his own settle locked to the brightest and most natural. and he swears he's used that line already, but naegi makoto is the purest of heart, makes it difficult to think any other way. he watches him now, not the attention's center but still the only midst his can draw upon, laughing and stammering to a daisy field chat ping ponging between the two. their true middle leers on silent as himself, though he dare not flick his sight her way; she's bopping her eyes slow along either at her side, drawing a braid behind one ear, and yet she's staring at him anyway. a third eye perhaps. an awoken sense from her perception's perpetual volition.

though it matters not the kindest how kirigiri kyouko absorbs him, how she has for their half decade of side by side fighting (and in more recent those sides have melded to one, no use for the haughty bickering passed backforth like classroom notes as juvenile as the arguments themselves), orders his focus again to the corner cut. he'd just look a  _loser_ to deny his affinity for the way naegi's placed himself in a half slouch, lips blowing idle to the bottle top as he listens on about the wonders of winter clearance sales on swimwear. he'd just a look a fool to say he's no interest in naegi makoto at all. he'd be a liar. togami byakuya is not a liar, not since the brat at his core had been tugged outward kicking and screaming by the rusted hook of development.

he'd like to think naegi's somewhat aware of that interest, sparse as it may be to surface. he'd like to think naegi would have picked up upon it five years ago, but that would have taken hoity toity freshly seventeen years togami byakuya to realize it himself. only recent had he allowed himself the questioning of inner wrapped emotion, peeled away the nori to pick through the rice, and delved further to find his classmate gone coworker to defend the earth's ends tastes a plump and sweet bite of amaebi.

perhaps it isn't the best analogy. perhaps he's distracted slightly by the gargling echo in his gut.

but it too is no matter, none at all, because thinking about dinner only again reminds him of his temptation sat in posture that he's warned over and over will render him paralyzed by thirty five, done casting music cross the bottle's hollow to gab on about the trip they'd last taken to see a concert in a sexy little kyoto venue (and he does not point out that it is perhaps the only concert hall still standing among all the mess, because they're here in the thick and healthy forest to forget all that mess if only for one night, one night) with a finger prodding his hip partner's pallid untwitching cheek. and he doesn't recall so taut now why it is that his train of thought goes so from dinner to naegi, can only remember the one night they'd attended one together at his prompting, though held within it nothing more than face value; nothing more, because it's hard to place romance with one's little sister tagged along for a sirloin and a milkshake, and, just personally, it's a turn off to watch your attempted date ask the waiter for ketchup at a steakhouse, but he's swept it since under the rug.

beyond memory now, kirigiri brushes away the hand, the saccharine gooey mock to his smirk, and at last does find her eyes in the literal taken to pierce the one across the coughing fire pit.

"you should go inside and change, asahina," she says slow to her, authoritative in only the most amiable flavor. "i'm sure hagakure could use some help in the kitchen."

"an interesting synonym for supervision," togami quips in dry quiet to her rise, one cajoled by a hand grasping her own, delights mildly in the way she tosses a centimeter smile at the comment before she allows herself to be dragged along the pathway to the cabin's back steps.

it isn't awkward being left alone with naegi, even though it is a little, but he'd still wished to silence that he wouldn't trail their leave. when the dust again rests he finds no coal in his stocking, and to the dull placement of glass to wood he twists the top from another drink and passes it left. naegi smiles in a way that says  _i shouldn't,_ heightens the smoky lush along each cheekbone with an inhale of peach his awaited transfusion. the metro's gearing in the station again to drag his prior analogy to the memory of the last holiday before the one they melt in this dawn, some kind of western festivity insisted upon by the ditsy girl in division eight to  _brighten up_ the office. when it'd come his turn to draw a slip from the faded yellow hat passed his way, he'd grumbled something under his breath about a commerce ploy, and when he'd unfolded that slip to read  _g_ _ekkogahara,_ he'd throttled the closest seated in trade for the one labeled  _naegi_ and a  _'kay_ _, togamichi, take it, take it!_

naegi had said he'd just loved the dark knit jacket and trouser suit set, and that he hoped kimura would like the squishy stress bunny he'd found at the department store for her.

kirigiri had said  _here,_ and handed him a neatly wrapped hardcover book on hanukkah traditions. he'd rolled his eyes.

and they spin neat back to rested now, glazed by hazing moon and tides and the fire pit crackling, by his third smirnoff and everything that naegi makoto is. at the present, it does not breathe so much as he envisions swooned full, the pull of his thin cotton jacket tighter as day becomes better night, hair tips tamed short to the licking breeze. naegi is determination. naegi is the future. naegi is soft cotton candy, pink and blue like at the fair, like at whatever stupid rich kid birthday party raves on down the street, soft and sweet and really, it's too obvious an analogy yet all the same so veracious. he's delicious. togami finds his hands trembling.

he'd like to think naegi's aware of his interest, but more so would he spend his star shot through murk to bid a return.

"hey, you two!" drags them so sudden to glance above. asahina stands at the porch rail, hand waving high, done up to cotton shorts and a long sleeve tee. "coming in for dinner?"

they blink to one another, and it is only then that togami realizes he has not spoken a word since they'd been left sole.

his eyes pinch hot together. they walk aside one another to meet the opened sliding glass, sizzling behind them flame died to freshwater.

"all you can eat, straight from the fresh and delicious yasuhiro home kitchen!"

they're seated five to the dining room table, all crafted wood same as the chairs, walls, bedframes, and togami hopes to god their server of such fine cuisine had remembered to flick the stovetop off (or does not conk with fingers poised to a hit, as his velvet sin couch pillow at home bears still the scorch hole from where it'd dropped a once). but- the food is set before them by hands large, gentle, and he's left tilting his chin to it appearing a visual savory. mounds of rice and soba sit centered by more delectable dishes, onigiri and skewered yakitori and a hot fragrant attempt at zōni.

certainly he could not call it the perfect osechi ryori, though helps himself to a half plate of soy soaked noodles regardless. he's hardly put a dent in the overall even with the considerable portion, and he's to wonder to himself how in the hell five people are to eat enough for fifteen, though he can recall a dozen occasions on which asahina and naegi had stuffed themselves sick and asked what was for dessert, the latter boasting such skill now in his lean forward to heap curry onto his plate with tongue near lolling.

"yahoo, yahoo!" titters hagakure once he's stood again post the bread roll crammed down his throat. his hair rests corralled in a heavy band and kerchief atop, glasses hooked at the pocket of a white hanging apron. he shakes a champagne bottle hearty at one side.

togami glances to him in hot faced dreading. "hagakure, don't-"

the cork  _fwips_ a bullet pressed past them, kirigiri taking fingers graceful to shove naegi at one shoulder and save them an emergency room trip by less than an inch.

"woohoo!" asahina is quick to lift her glass beneath the eruption of froth, and the others follow suit til the bottle's tilted upright to the tablecloth and missing half its insides.

"a toast," hagakure bids them all alike, raises the bubbles to a grand throat clearing. it's theatrical in a way that draws more comic than drama, particularly once his speech goes no further than a drawling  _to, ahh..._ and a finger scratching a cheek.

"to new year's?" pipes asahina from her seat to togami's right. a chandelier bulb blinks above.

attention crosses the table to a newcomer to take speech, and naegi's not soft cotton candy when his eyes shine such deep forest lush, voices conviction so solid. he's a hearty steak dinner. with ketchup. "to the future," he says, and clinks his rim to kirigiri's.

there's no rhythm to the rest, to the kirigiri's to asahina's, asahina's to togami's, hagakure's to naegi's to ashahina's to kirigiri's again, windchimes on a gusty toyama afternoon, but when naegi reaches a proffered little meaningless  _clink_ across the way to him, he's driven to rigidity at every muscle, perhaps only by the dusted rouge over his nose, his star pin freckles, the pinch of shoulders into timid chuckling, more a breath than anything else, and...and he's overthinking everything, again, the type aaa personality, takes exhale sharp and leans a hand out.  _clink._

one thousand carbs transfer to stomachs in the minutes to follow. he sneers to an inward wince at his seat partner's unsightly scarfing, plate after plate of soba and onigiri vanishing in a blink, and he thinks were he to tempt a hand her way he'd draw it back with fingers missing. the others are no better, hagakure at the head of the table slurping aside mouth stuffed conversation, naegi receiving a thump to his shoulder and soy sauce speckled to his cheek in a guffawing. he wipes a sleeve cross his face, laughs back weak to a bite approaching his lips. togami watches, chews slow to the dinner theater of naegi's expression swapping when a tap finds his second shoulder tenfold more gentle. brows perk above waxed moon eyes. he does not hear kirigiri's whispering tone, though can deduce she's said  _bread_ as evident by naegi's nod and reach toward the plate holding them.

togami is fallen so entranced by the motion of his everything that he spares no reaction to the soak over the tablecloth aside his dinner.

a gasp so sudden slaps his brain clean. "i'm so sorry, togami, ah-" the wood chair scrapes to the wood floor and togami's surprised the hand towel naegi stretches for isn't a fine cherry maple, too. it sops along the spill, and he's sick to notice the hand that lifts his glass back righted quivers aflame. "sorry, here, let me get you another drink."

"it's...fine," he says, because it is, and he isn't super supercilious togami byakuya, the fresh high school beau who'd spit coffee in your face and mail you the teeth whitening bill. and it's fine, too, that naegi's still similar to his own younger self, always the klutz and always the machine gunned apologies where they hardly belong. maturity suits him well, though he cannot deny his shivered spine whenever it is that naegi makoto should prod a tongue through gapped front incisors or argue the merit of marshmallow cereal.

before he even has the pen clicked for note taking, his cup sits refilled and the laughter's carried on, rice sticky in throats and broth drenching past.

kirigiri shreds her bread roll with the cuspids of a hyena while meeting his stare dead on.

begrudging goes his lean in to grit teeth, poke meat clutched chopstick tips behind them in facing only the window panes the rest of the meal.

"five minutes!" asahina yelps in echoes about the den, enclosed by wicker and fabric, heat taut along the vents. she's placed to one cushion of the two seater sofa. kirigiri occupies the other, satin black lapping at the fold of a leg over.

the television gleams in ten shining eyes, marvel at the live stream of shibuya crossing; buildings tall as god glown neon, confetti poppers prepped in a hundred hands below. the camera pans about the wool gloved hands of waving tourists in glee. togami scoffs.

"i hope komaru's having fun," naegi suddenly says, standing at his side behind the couch, vision trained solid to the screen. his knees sway tickled by the liquor. "i'm glad she has fukawa to keep her company, at least."

"yeah, too bad togami's suv only has three seats in the back," says asahina from afront them, to which kirigiri murmurs, "interesting synonym for convenient."

he smirks dark to the night's veneer.

the wicker basket aside him creaks protests to the weight perched atop it, though hagakure takes no hints. "they're starting the countdown!  _sixty! fifty nine! fifty eight! fif-!"_

"i'll give you ten thousand yen a second if you'll stop screaming in my ear," togami barks over it, makes naegi laugh his way into a lean against his side. he's quick and hot to pull himself righted, and togami doesn't have the adolescent lovesickness required to flush over it. a touch is nothing. a touch is the caret where he craves the whole ring. easy it could slip unto an imperial finger by way of  _forty three!_ more seconds when tradition should take over senses, but a midnight kiss on new year's is...is a ring, where he craves the full ceremony, and he thinks he'd ought to stop using such shameless comparisons. but it'd be simple, and he rather like the minimalist's life, so simple to curl arm to waist and blame it on the peach vodka tomorrow morning. but togami byakuya is not a liar, so he'd blame only himself and his  _feelings,_ which he traipses upon as vase shards neath bare toes. he will say- he  _would_ say, he'd say, well naegi, you're just so charming, and i'm just so horny- no, no, too honest.

" _thirty one! thirty! twenty nine!"_

and it is those lips he so fantasizes on that melt to the chorus, and grin broad round each number, each passing moment to join that toasted future none can wait to call home. togami cannot wait to call home his own land, his own bed thrice the luxury of this overpriced lincoln log barrel, cannot wait to have a home that draws him there after work each evening  _because_ it's home, and he'll be able to take the carpool lane and loosen his tie to the tune of  _thai for dinner?_

but he's getting ahead of himself, because he'd only  _like_ to think naegi's aware and naegi's reciprocating, and,  _hell,_ maybe he'll be the one swept off his feet rather than always playing the princely broom. maybe naegi will muster up the smirnoff/champagne/three plates of curry and what a perfect night to initiate a burn his own. regardless, his heartbeat's in his ears, and he's got  _ten! nine! eight!_ seconds to make a decision, and all he can think about are the dirty dishes piled in the kitchen sink. naegi smells of fireflies and desperate nights beneath silk sheets.

" _three! two! ONE!_ woo!"

wicker yelps to a room full of cheering, bouncing in places, strikes to hop up. a guitar streaks from the television's speakers. confetti obscures the golden splayed  _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_ rolling across the front most building's countdown screen.

heartbeat in ears and lungs in throat and head over heels, and he's a mess of a surgeon's first try and da vinci would go mad with fever for his all new vitruvian man. perhaps since that final  _ONE!_ has passed only further counted by the millisecond, tongues drenched in molasses and maple and margarine all the same. he thinks it isn't too late. he thinks it's never too late.

his hand extends a fraction his right most, and naegi cools his ear to ear beaming to meet the stained glass eyes that call him forth.

"happy new year!" splits togami's skull in two halves, mended by the palm slapping the back of his hair with its match low as sin on his curved back perfection. he's dipped near to the ground, because he hasn't thought left enough to process what's been taken so swift of him and hagakure's propped him back to his feet with a boisterous clamoring, " _time for fireworks!"_ before he even has the sense to wipe his gape hung mouth.

strong middled laughter guides a hop over the back of the sofa, feet tearing wild down the carpeting to the sliding glass back door left cleared by the predecessor. kirigiri follows in a humble one two of steps around the side, swipes the lip gloss smudge from her cheek with the pads of a glove on a stride past him. mocking. searing. he implodes at the core.

"coming, togami?" draws his million and one blinks to pause, snaps chin leftways toward the sliding door where naegi stands, in limbo. fingers rest to the handle indent, and he's that same cotton hooded top and same knee bragging rocker's denim, same naegi as he's ever been to him.

"...i'm going to bed." his steps trail southern, fingertips to glasses up bridge, and he'll need them to look forward to another three hundred sixty five days of asininity. a straighten goes to his spine, shoulders, hands tugging casual blazer prim at the front. he's togami byakuya no matter the outcome of his plans, always will wear his pride on his chest and emotion in the soles of his shoes.

he's togami byakuya, so when that surname calls after his turned back, he's inclined to tilt head over shoulder and gaze long to him, bored to him.

naegi looks a prime fine aged in his seashore stare. decades of power behind his eyes. naegi makoto is everything with a cherry to the crest, behaves only the remnants spoons scrape after in the dish's dipped bottom. naegi makoto is naegi makoto, and he blinks once to calm the tide trainers, within them the deepest maraschino dewdrops. "i...would have kissed back," comes forth, deafens him a supersonic bursting of eardrums blown. "...just saying."

togami won't allow himself the shiver. he holds steady that gazing, the sunset the lake waves the three hundred sixty five turned long over that pins them here now. behind the glass snaps a pulsing explosion of tantalizing midnight vermilion. two whoops follow it, and naegi's attention splits only the finest second to glance at a beckoning call of their names from down the way. vital, one to one, they match looks strong once over anew.

he turns back to continue his trail down the heavy trimmed woodwork hall. "happy new year, naegi."

the bottoms of his feet pulse with each new step.


End file.
